


In The Talons Of A Monster

by StarShineRobotics



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, F/M, Love Confessions, Mind Control, Sort Of, Violence, super self-indulgent garbage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 08:30:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15703566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarShineRobotics/pseuds/StarShineRobotics
Summary: Angela is trapped by Talon but comes across a friendly face. Now if only that friendly face wasn't trying to kill her.





	In The Talons Of A Monster

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ceia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceia/gifts).



> Massive shout out to Ceia for beta reading and editing my garbage!  
> This is literally the first fic i have ever written and published forgive me

She could hear her blood racing like stallions though her body, her heart pounding harder than any drum. Her breaths were quick and heavy from running. Running. Gotta keep running. For once she finds herself happy he only has one leg, a feeling she knows she'll regret later, if she survives that long. Mercy can hear his laughter, a terrifyingly mad cackle that echoes through the halls and rings in her ears. She once found it funny, almost charming, but all it does now is fill her with dread.

Her heels clack loudly against the tile floors in a mad sprint to… Where? Safety? Freedom? Mercy doesn't know where she is, she doesn't know how to get out. Her comlink has been dead since she woke up, her staff smashed into a glorified walking stick, useless, but they let her keep her caduceus blaster. This is a game. She is a mouse caged with a cat, or rather, a rat.

Explosive blasts shake the world around her, shrieks of laughter the only sound to drown it out. She has to keep running. Keep running. Whatever they did, it's not him anymore. It's not him. It's not him. 

She spots a doorway right ahead and almost loses her footing trying to skid in and hide. What strength she has left is used to push the massive metal door closed, pulling the wheel to lock it, and not a moment too soon. There's a bang against the door and she screams as she falls back and onto the floor, scrambling backwards until her back hits the floor. She shutters, the sounds of scratching reminiscent of a cat wanting to be let outside.

“Merrrrrcyyyyyyyy!”

His voice is slurred and intermittent with giggles. It sends chills down her spine. Besides his laughter and snarls, he hasn't said a word. She wishes he’d kept it that way.

“Come out and plaaaayyyy~”

There's a bang and Mercy screams again, covering her ears while the door across from her warps like its made of nothing more than tin foil. This was a mistake. The door isn't nearly as strong as she had hoped, and now she’s gotten herself trapped. 

Scrambling to her feet, staff in hand, she darts to the far wall next to the buckling door, and not a moment too soon, as it suddenly flies off its hinges to crash against the wall where she had just been sitting. She holds her breath, the tall shadow of her former teammate stalking into the room. Through the smoke she can see his eyes, quite literally glowing like fire, as well as the red lights shining off whatever machine they attached to his head. He’s still wearing his Overwatch uniform, she realises. They must not have had enough time to dress him into one of the ridiculous outfits Talon likes to give its people. It is torn though, in several places. It looks like he didn't give them an easy fight when they took him.

The smoke gives her enough cover so he doesn't see her right away, waiting until he's in the room enough to slip through the doorway and-

A mine flies past her and explodes with that signature car alarm beep, flinging her down the hall with a shout. Mercy skids across the floor, clutching her side where pain is blossoming under her reddening hands. The mine was close enough to rip through her valkyrie suit, but no shrapnel could be felt. A flesh wound, thankfully.

“Where do ya think you're goin’ angel face?”

Junkrat is limping towards her now, piercing the smoke, and for the first time, she gets to have a real look at him.

He's bruised, dried blood chipping from his skin under his nose and down his face. Under where they attached that THING to him. It’s something like a helmet, encasing his head but with enough space to let his signature wild hair stick out in its unnatural pattern. The helmet is bulky and looks more like prototype than anything she's ever seen Talon use.

He's their test dummy, she realises. The first of many to be subjected to mind control, a less costly method compared probably to the things they did to Widowmaker. How many others have they kidnapped so far? How many more will they take? Will they use her next, or just let Junkrat kill her and get her out of the way? She used to feel so safe around him, but now… Now his smile only fills her with dread.

“Junkrat, please!”

Mercy groans, gasping in pain whilst she pulls herself to her feet, using her broken staff to do so.

“This isn't you! They're controlling you! They-”

Junkrat throws his head back in a mad cackle that makes him almost tip over backwards. The red lights on his helmet start to blink and he snaps back forward to glare at her, smile turning into a snarl.

“Controlling me? Now what would make you think somethin’ like that? You really aren't as smart as you think you are, are ya?”

From his belt he grabs and flings another mine right for her face. She dips to her right to avoid it, flinching when it explodes behind her. 

“Jamison, please!” 

More mines fly at her, Mercy being barely able to move fast enough to dodge them, until one blows before it reaches her and flings her back again, but this time she's ready, using her wings to steady and keep her upright, landing on her feet. She's scared, terrified. She means nothing to him now. Did she ever? Those countless missions where they'd save each other. He'd smirk and call her his guardian angel. She later retaliated when he saved her from a flanking Talon grunt, calling him her guardian rat. He got a kick out of that one. Still called himself that from time to time during missions that put the team on edge in an attempt to lighten the mood. He lit up when he was in battle, wild, free, overjoyed when he got to use his treasured RIP-Tire. She always felt queasy when she saw the aftermath, but she couldn't deny that his methods were effective-

Mercy snaps back to reality when Junkrat starts coming towards her again, standing her ground with her staff clutched in her bloody hands in front of her. everything in her yells at her to run, but a blooming anger keeps her rooted. He was her friend, easily one of her closest besides Lena. But he was also the first man in a long time that she’d fallen for.

How dare they. How dare they do this to him. 

“Jamison Fawkes, stop this right now!”

“Or what? You'll put me in time out? Gimme a slap on the wrist?” 

Another cackle and his eyes darken into a look that makes her blood run cold.

“Don't make me laugh.”

He fires a grenade from the frag launcher then sprints for her. Mercy smacks the grenade with her staff back at him. He catches it in his metal hand where it explodes, not phasing him in the least. Junkrat pierces the smoke and reaches for her, swinging his arm down to be blocked by her staff yet again, the clash of metal ringing in her ears. She flings his arm off to shove against his chest, losing balance momentarily, but he's back at her again. This time when she blocks his fist, he grabs her staff, fingers easily bending the shaft as if it were nothing more than a toy. This doesn't make sense, the only time Junkrat gets really close to an enemy is when he's out of ammo or right out pissed, but looking at his belt, she can still see 3 mines and a pouch stuffed fat with grenades. So why is he fighting like this?

She looks into eyes glowing brighter than any explosion, burning into her own, searing her down to her heart. It hurts. Seeing him like this hurts. He could snap her like a twig, blast her into nothing, and yet here they are, struggling against one another over a busted staff.

Junkrat is breathing heavily, feeling the effects of having chased her for so long, beads of sweat rolling lazily down his long, soot covered face. He's as handsome as he is terrifying. Out of nowhere the lights on the helmet start to flash and Junkrat once again snarls, rips the staff from her hand and flings it behind him, blocking it from her entirely. He lunges and before he can grab her, Mercy’s wings flash in a burst of light, lifting her out of his reach and into the air. Without a second thought she turns and zips away, back into the extensive metal labyrinth. The ceiling doesn't allow her much freedom, but it at last keeps her out of reach, should he catch up. No, when. When he catches up. There's nowhere to go here, nowhere to escape to. It's only a matter of time until she's too exhausted to move, and that's when he'll get her.

Valkyrie spent, Mercy drifts gracefully to the floor, taking a look over her shoulder. Nothing. She can't see him, can't hear him. The silence is suffocating, it makes the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Jamison is by no means a quiet man, always making some sort of racket. Explosions, shouts of laughter, talking, tapping various things with his metal hand, just for the sake of annoying people like Symmetra and Torbjorn. Just for fun. Quiet wasn't fun. Quiet was scary.

Angela turns a corner and presses herself as far into it as possible, not easy when you have wings to worry about. 

“Winston, are you there?”

She presses her comlink in her ear. Nothing but static.

“Soldier: 76? Captain Amari? Lena?”

Nothing. She's completely cut off from her team. They're the only ones who can get her out of this. If they found her, then they could take Jamison, get whatever nasty contraption they’ve attached to him off. He could be healed and rehabilitated, should the effects stick around. He'd been willing to go “legit” before, he can do it again! She won't be alone in this, Roadhog will be there. He'll make sure everything they did to Jamison is put straight. When they get out. They'll get out…

Angela slides down to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest while tears welled and made her vision nothing but a blur of the walls around her. She chuckles, dragging a hand up through her tangled bangs. 

“Who am I kidding? We're not getting out.”

She laughs, a bitter and broken sound. It’s funny, isn't it? Being trapped in a labyrinth with a man who was once her close friend, chasing her down to kill her. He used to do anything to protect her. She knows because he's done it. He's fought hoards of Talon soldiers to reach her, used his own body to shield her from enemy fire, even going as far as launching himself in the air to catch her when her wings were broken. Jamison had done it all, with a grin that never left his face. He'd whisper reassuring words when things were tough, told her jokes when things were going wrong. He'd been so kind and protective of her. It was no wonder she fell for him.  
She should have told him. Should have told him before he was taken, should have told him during all the quiet evenings they'd share in the rec room when neither could sleep. Should have told him when he saved her time and time again. She should have told him, but she didn't. Now she'll die regretting it. 

Angela opens her eyes, feeling the remnants of sleep clinging to her lids. She'd fallen asleep, exhausted, physically and emotionally. She didn't realise how tired she was. In her sleep she’d tilted and fell onto her side, curled into a protective ball. For a moment she panics, sitting upright with a gasp, taking in her surroundings with wide eyes. It doesn’t take long for her memory to kick in and remind her of her current situation. Right, she was taken by Talon and thrown into whatever kind of maze this is just to toy with her. Angela rubbed the sleep from her eyes, leaning back against the wall and heaving a sigh and closing her eyes again. How long was she-

“G’day.”

Her head snaps towards Jamison’s voice and finds herself nearly nose to nose with him, his too wide grin and gleaming amber eyes searing into her like a brand. She shrieks, shoving herself off the wall in a clumsy effort to get herself up and away. Jamison watches her stumble, rising from where he was kneeling next to her with a giggle. 

“Thought you could get away from me, angel face? Ha! I'm the most bloody persistent bastard you'll ever meet!”

Much to Angela’s amazement, there’s a heavy thud when he unhooks his RIP-Tire and lets it drop to the ground, but he doesn’t start it, as she thought he would. Oh no, Jamison leaves the tire behind and full on sprints towards her. Angela shrieks and breaks into her own run. He’s leaving his tire behind!? That’s his strongest weapon! Not that she’s not glad he’s not going to use it, it just doesn’t make sense. She weaves through halls and skids around corners as fast as she can, but he's never too far behind. Angela barely hears the little jingle alert from her suit, Valkyrie is ready! Relief washes over her and she quickens her pace for take off. 

“Don’t even think about it!” 

Before she can activate her wings to make a getaway, there’s a bang that throws her forward, causing her to lose her footing and tumble along the hallway. Angela coughs to get some of the smoke out of her lungs, clutching the newly agitated wound on her side and using her other arm to push herself up.

Go. She has to go, now! She stumbles to her feet and gives a weak little hop, but nothing happens. 

“Using those pretty little wings of yours is cheating mate, but no worries.” 

Angela looks over her shoulder and to her horror, sees two stumps where her wings had just been, the sparks from exposed wires dancing in front of her eyes. Shit. Jamison walks towards her at a leisurely pace, grin spread wide when he holds up the used detonator, wiggling it between two fingers then dropping it like it was a used cup and not the device that just sealed Angela’s fate.

”I’ll just clip ‘em!”

He cackles, the sound echoing off the walls and surrounding her ears, head thrown back and hand clutched over the chest of his torn overwatch suit. Again she sees his helmet flast and his head snaps forward with a snarl, all humor gone in an instant. 

“Bye bye, birdie.”

The look in his eye is enough to send a shock of fear through her body, and without thinking Angela pulls out her caduceus blaster pointed right at his chest. He stops before he can reach her, looking down at the laughable weapon clutched in her shaking hands. Jamison glances at her, eyebrow raised.

“You really think that’s gunna stop me?”

Angela flicks off the safety with her thumb, keeping it at his chest, but her eyes never leave his face. She’s so scared. She can’t keep running, she has no staff, no wings. She doesn’t want to hurt him, but she’s cornered.

“I’ll do it.”

“Go ahead!” he scoffs. “I’ve seen you shoot that thing before. It does jack-shit! Probably doesn't even hurt more than a bloody paintball gun!”

It’s true. Her gun is more for stunning people so she can retreat back to her team, but her team isn’t here now, and his uniform is supposed to be bulletproof anyway. It’d do nothing. 

She changes targets from his chest to the offending helmet on his head. It flashes and suddenly Jamison grabs her arms, shoves her away and before she can react, nails her right in the face. Angela gasps, and slams into the ground like a brick. Pain makes her vision go white, spreading from her eye to the rest of her face. Did he just punch her? He just punched her, with his prosthetic. Angela carefully pulls her hand away from her face and her assaulted eye, already swelling from the damage. She lifts her head back up to look back up at Jamison, blood dripping down the cuts around her eye, but to her surprise, he hasn’t moved. He’s not leering or smirking at her. He’s staring down at her with wide eyes. His fist is still clenched, drops of her blood dripping from his knuckles.

“...Jamie?”

Slowly, he raises his fist, stares at it like it’s a smoking gun. His hand starts to tremble.

“I… An-”

This time when the helmet flashes he yelps like a hit dog and bares his teeth, snarling. She shrieks, Jamie flinging his last mine at the wall beside her and sending her slamming into the adjacent wall when it detonates. Angela slowly slumps to the floor, blood from the back of her head dragging down the wall and matting her hair. She hurts. Everything hurts. The world is spinning around her, feels like it’s going to fall. Concussion? Probably. She’s too tired to try and think of the symptoms. 

He’s not done with her though. Jamison grabs her and hoists her up by her neck until her feet can’t touch the floor, pinning her against the wall with his metal arm. Angela chokes, grabbing at his wrist in a useless effort to get him to let go, legs kicking but too weak to do any harm. More metal presses to the underside of her chin and she realises it’s his frag launcher, loaded and ready to decorate the wall with her face. Jamie is growling, face twisted into rage, teeth bared like he’s ready to bite. 

“Jamie…” 

They’re nose to nose, filling her vision of nothing but him. She’s moment’s away from death. No more second chances, no more hope, no rescues in the nic of time. She only has these few seconds. Angela squeezes her eye shut, hot tears rolling down the smoke and blood on her skin, using the last of her strength to speak. A quiet, choked out little sentence, barely above a whisper.

“I love you.”

She braces herself for the pain, ready to accept death like an old friend. She thinks of all the times they spent together. How they hit it off when they first met in her exam room. Of all the times he’d saved her. That one time he launched himself through a window just to impress her. So many wasted chances. So much wasted time. She wishes she had the courage to tell him sooner.

Moments pass and she’s still alive, still hanging off the wall. Angela risks opening her eye good to see him staring at her, his own eyes wide with confusion and disbelief.

“What…” Jamison starts. His eye twitches and he shakes his head as if to clear it. “What’d you say?”

They stare at one another, eyes blue as an ocean and bright as a fire locked together. Angela opens her mouth to speak, then closes it again, suddenly nervous. His eyes don't leave hers, still looking skeptical, like he doubts what she says is true. Her eyes grow sad, hoping he’ll at least believe her before she dies. Before Talon makes him kill her. 

“I love you, Jamison Fawkes.”

His eye twitches again, blinking hard. He’s thinking, thinking real hard about what she said and what it means. When he focuses on her again Jamie looks confused, sad almost, breath coming heavy and dancing over her lips. Were the circumstances different she would have grabbed his face and kissed him by now.

“...An...Angie?”

She gasps then chokes when she sees the recognition in his eyes, hand on her throat loosening, starting to lower her to the ground.

“Yes! Yes Jamie! Jamie, it’s me.”

She’s almost touching the ground again, hope once again blossoming in her chest.

“Angie… i-”

Suddenly Jamie’s helmet flashes and the sound he makes can only be described as a roar. He hauls her up into the air again and she chokes, once again grabbing at his wrist. No, wrists. She hears the clatter of his frag launcher and now both of his hands are at her throat, choking the life out of her. She struggles in silence, tears pouring from her eyes, silently pleading to him, mouthing his name over, and over. Jamie! Jamie please! Please stop! His face is contorted, eyes glowing bright in the dim light of the hall, lighting up her face, watches as she slowly seeps away. She’s tired. So, so tired, but just when she’s about to let herself go, she’s off the wall and on the floor. 

Angela gasps, taking greedy, aching breaths of air, one hand clutching her throat and using the other to push herself up to see what’s happened.

Jamie’s backed away from her, doubled over and grabbing at the helmet, wrenching at the damn thing, snarling like an animal. It’s flashing like a strobe light. He’s fighting it, she realises. Jamie’s still in there. He’s fighting tooth and nail against it, absolutely refusing to let go again. He won’t let it take him over. Not again, not after it made him hurt her. Jamie falls to his knees and slams his head into the floor loud enough to make the walls ring and Angela flinch. He hollers, doing it again, and again, and again, and-

“J-Jamie!” 

Angela cringes from the pain, voice hoarse from his attack, making it hurt to talk, coughing from her outburst. 

“St- Jamie! Stop!” 

Angela uses one hand to drag herself towards him to try and help when she hears a snap. Jamie tips onto his side, writhing and kicking at nothing. A piece of the helmet comes off and clatters uselessly onto the floor, then another. There’s a moment when he whips his head towards her like he’s going to attack, but he grabs the helmet again before he can.

“Stop!” 

His hands find a hold on the front of the device that he hasn't yet torn off and uses all his strength to try to remove it. All Angela can do is watch him. She feels useless, but if she tries to help him, she’ll probably just wind up making it worse. Her heart breaks to watch him struggle, but this is something he has to do on his own.

“Stop stop stop stop stop stop-” 

He keeps repeating it, cursing out the machine that nearly made him kill her. The more he tears off, the more Jamie bleeds, ripping the metal from his flesh despite the pain. Angela looks away for a moment, unable to keep watching him hurt himself, but turns back when she hears him shout. 

“GET OUT OF MY FUCKING HEAD!”

He’s on his knees again, slams his head with all his might into the ground one more time. There’s a loud, resounding CRACK, then a pause. Angela holds her breath, watching him slowly sit back up, blood all down his face and matting his hair, and she watches as piece by piece, the helmet crumbles away to useless scrap on the blood smeared floor. 

They both remain silent. Jamie stares, at what, she isn’t sure, but realisation slowly comes to him, along with the memories that thing had locked away from him. He wobbles, turns to her look at her, and speaks.

“Sorry.”

Jamie’s eyes roll back and he crumples to the floor, much to her alarm. Angela calls out to him, drags herself across the floor and their blood to reach his side. He’s still breathing, she can see that clearly even though one of her eyes has swollen shut, and moves on to check his pulse, lifting his organic wrist to check. She counts his heartbeats, finding that it’s beating normally. She moves on to check his head. Angela needs to make sure no parts of the helmet are still attached to his skull. Thankfully Jamie doesn’t so much as stir while she’s checking his wounds, and besides a loose screw stuck in his hair, there’s nothing left of the helmet on him. She tugs at a rip on the hanging cloth of her suit to tear it and carefully wrap it around his head, just to protect it for now. It’ll take a lot stitches, but he’ll be alright. 

“Jamie?”

He looks exhausted. Dark bags visible under his eyes even through all the soot and blood. He hasn’t slept a wink since they’ve been here, has he? It’s incredible he was able to keep it up as long as he did. Had they tortured him? Did they make him stay awake while they were screwing that helmet to his skull? They didn't even let those wounds heal before they dumped the two of them in this box. 

Angela allows herself a moment to look over Jamie’s sleeping face. A warmth glows deep in her chest, bringing a soft smile to her lips. He fought against the machine that pumped monsters into his head like a drug. She wonders. Did her confession really give him the strength to break from their control? She’d like to think so. A selfish and self-indulgent thought, yes, but perhaps it wouldn't hurt to indulge herself. Just this once.

With a gentle hand Angela strokes the bone of his cheek, thumb wiping the blood. Jamie looks at peace for once. Not even snoring. He deserves rest.

Fatigue seeps into her bones as well as the aches and pains of being thrown around by explosions. Now that the adrenalin is leaving her system, she knows she’s going to be in a world of hurt tomorrow. She needs to rest. 

Angela lowers her head to the good side of her face against his chest, listening to his deep breaths, his strong heart. Heartbeats always seemed to soothe her, like waves crashing on a shore, or the sound of falling rain. A beating heart is a living heart. She was listening to life. Something she’s glad Jamie still has. She can worry about an escape later. For now, they need to sleep, and enjoy being alive.


End file.
